by Tim LaHaye
Near a surgical unit he saw a doctor hang a smock on a hook before heading the other way. It looked clean, so Buck took it back to Ken. But Ken was gone.
Buck found him at the elevator. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve gotta get my bag,” Ken said. “We left it outside.”
“It’s under a chair in the waiting room. We’ll get it later. Now put this on.” The sleeves were four inches short. Ken looked like the last renter in a costume shop.
Pushing the gurney, they hurried to 335 as fast as Ken could go. The woman guard said, “Doctor, we just got a call from our superiors that a delegation is on its way from the airport, and—”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Buck said, “but the patient you’re guarding has died.”
“Died?” she said. “Well, it certainly wasn’t our fault. We—”
“No one is saying it’s your fault. Now I need to take the body to the morgue. You can tell your delegation or whomever where to find her.”
“Then we don’t need to stay here, do we?”
“Of course not. Thanks for your service.”
As Buck and Ken entered the room, Craig caught sight of Ritz’s head. “Man, are you an orderly or a patient?”
Ken whirled around. “Are you discriminating against the handicapped?”
“No, sir, I’m sorry. It’s just—”
“Everybody needs a job!” Ken said.
Chloe tried to smile when she saw Ken, whom she had met at Palwaukee after Buck and Tsion’s flight from Egypt. Buck looked pointedly at Ritz. “Meet Annie Ashton,” he said. “I’m her doctor.”
“Dr. Buck,” Chloe said quietly. “He broke his glasses.”
Ritz smiled. “Sounds like we’re on the same medication.”
Buck pulled the sheet over the dead woman’s head, rolled her bed out, and replaced it with the gurney. He wheeled the bed to the door and asked Ken to stay with Chloe, “just in case.”
“In case what?”
“In case those GC guys show up.”
“I get to play doctor?”
“In a manner of speaking. If we can convince them the woman they want is in the morgue, we might have time to hide Chloe.”
“You don’t want to strap her to the top of our rental car?”
Buck pushed the bed down the corridor to the elevators. Getting off were four people, three of them men, dressed in dark business suits. Tags on their jackets identified them as Global Community operatives. One said, “What are we looking for again?”
Another said, “335.”
Buck averted his face, not knowing whether his picture had been circulated. As soon as he rolled the bed onto the elevator, a doctor hit the emergency stop button. A half dozen people were in the car with Buck and the body. “I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” the doctor said. “Just a moment, please.”
He whispered in Buck’s ear, “You’re not a resident here, are you?”
“No.”
“There are strict rules about transporting corpses on other than the service elevators.”
“I didn’t know.”
The doctor turned to the others. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to need to take another elevator.”
“Gladly,” somebody said.
The doctor turned the elevator back on, and everyone else got off. He hit the button for the subbasement. “First time in this hospital?”
“Yes.”
“Left and all the way to the end.”
At the morgue, Buck thought about leaving the body outside the door and hoping it would be misidentified temporarily as Mother Doe. But he was seen by a man behind the desk who said, “You’re not supposed to bring beds in here. We can’t be responsible for that. You’ll have to take it back with you.”
“I’m on a tight schedule.”
“That’s your problem. We’re not answering for a room bed being down here.”
Two orderlies lifted the body to a gurney, and the man said, “Papers?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Papers! Death certificate. Doctor’s sign-off.”
Buck said, “Wristband says Mother Doe. I was told to bring her down here. That’s all I know.”
“Who’s her doctor?”
“I have no idea.”
“What room?”
“335.”
“We’ll look it up. Now get this bed out of here.”
Buck hurried back to the elevator, praying the ruse had worked and that the GC contingent was on its way to the morgue to make sure about Mother Doe. He did not cross paths with them, however, on the way back.
He was almost at room 335 when they emerged. He looked the other way and kept walking.
One said, “Where’s Charles, anyway?”
The woman said, “We should have waited. He was parking the car. How’s he supposed to find us now?”
“He can’t be far. When he gets here, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
When they were out of sight, Buck pushed the bed back into 335. “It’s just me,” he said as he passed Chloe’s curtain. He found Chloe even paler and now trembling. Ken sat next to the bed, hands resting lightly atop his head.
“Are you cold, hon?” Buck asked. Chloe shook her head. Her discoloration had spread. The ugly streaks caused by bleeding under the skin nearly reached her temple.
“She’s a little shook, that’s all,” Ritz said. “Me too, though I deserve an Oscar.”
“Doctor Airplane,” Chloe said, and Ritz laughed.
“That’s what she said. That’s all they could get out of her, except her name.”
“Annie Ashton,” she whispered.
“Screwed up those guys’ heads something awful. They come in complaining, especially the woman, about having no guards assigned like they asked. ‘We didn’t ask,’ Ken said, mimicking her voice. ‘It was a directive.’”
Chloe nodded.
Ken continued. “They shuffle past, snagging the end of our drape, talking about how she’s in bed B, all proud of themselves because they can read an adhesive strip on the door. I call out, ‘Two visitors at a time, please, and I’d appreciate you keeping it down. I have a toxic patient here.’ I meant infectious, but it means the same, doesn’t it?
“’Course they saw right away there was just an empty gurney over there. One of the guys pokes his head in here and I raise way up on my tiptoes, doctorlike, and say, ‘If you don’t want typhoid fever, you’d better pull your face outta here.’”
“Typhoid fever?”
“It sounded good to me. And it did the trick.”
“That scared them off?”
“Well, almost. He shut the curtain and said from behind it, ‘Doctor, may we speak to you in private, please?’ I said, ‘I can’t leave my patient. And I’d have to scrub before I talk to anybody. I’m immune, but I can carry the disease.’”
Buck raised his eyebrows. “They bought this?”
Chloe shook her head, appearing amused.
Ken said, “Hey, I was good. They asked who my patient was. I could have told them Annie Ashton, but I thought it was more realistic if I acted insulted by the question. I said, ‘Her name’s not as important as her prognosis. Anyway, her name’s on the door.’ I heard them tsk-tsking and one said, ‘Is she conscious?’ I said, ‘If you’re not a doctor, it’s none of your business.’ The woman said something about their having a doctor who hadn’t caught up to them yet, and I said, ‘You can ask me whatever you need to know.’
“One of them says, ‘We know what it says on the door, but we were told Mother Doe was in that bed.’ I said, ‘I’m not going to stand here and argue. My patient is not Mother Doe.’
“One of the guys says, ‘You mind if we ask her what her name is?’ I say, ‘As a matter of fact, I do mind. She needs to concentrate on getting better.’ The guy says, ‘Ma’am, if you can hear me, tell me your name.’
“I nod to Chloe so she’ll tell ’em, but I’m stomping toward the curtain like I’m mad. She hesitates, not sure what
I’m up to, but finally she says, acting real weak like, ‘Annie Ashton.’”
Chloe raised her hand. “Not acting,” she said. “Why’d they name me Mother Doe?”
“You don’t know?” Buck said, reaching for her hand.
She shook her head.
“Let me finish my story,” Ritz said. “I think they’re coming back. I whipped that curtain open and stared them down. I don’t guess they expected me to be so big. I said, ‘There! Satisfied? Now you’ve upset her and me too.’ The woman says, ‘Excuse us, Doctor, ah—’ and Chloe says, ‘Doctor Airplane.’ I had to bite my tongue. I said, ‘The medication’s getting to her,’ which it was. I said, ‘I’m Doctor Lalaine, but we’d better not shake hands, all things considered.’
“The rest of ’em are all crowded around the door, and the woman peeks through the curtain and says, ‘Do you have any idea what happened to Mother Doe?’ I tell her, ‘One patient from this room was taken to the morgue.’
“She says, ‘Oh, really?’ in a tone that tells me she doesn’t believe that one bit. She says, ‘What caused this young lady’s injuries? Typhoid?’ Real sarcastic. I wasn’t ready for that one, and while I’m trying to think up a smart, doctory answer, she says, ‘I’m going to have our physician examine her.’
“I tell her, ‘I don’t know how they do it where you’re from, but in this hospital only the attending physician or the patient can ask for a second opinion.’ Well, even though she’s a good foot shorter than me, she somehow looks down her nose at me. She says, ‘We are from the Global Community, here under orders from His Excellency himself. So be prepared to give ground.’
“I say, ‘Who the heck is His Excellency?’ She says, ‘Where have you been, under a rock?’ Well, I couldn’t tell her that was just about right and that because I had OD’d on tranqs I wasn’t too sure where I was now, so I said, ‘Servin’ mankind, trying to save lives, ma’am.’ She huffed out, and a couple minutes later, you walked in. You’re up-to-date.”
“And they’re bringing in a doctor,” Buck said. “Terrific. We’d better hide her someplace and see if we can get her lost in the system.”
“Answer me,” Chloe whispered.
“What?”
“Buck, am I pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“Is the baby OK?”
“So far.”
“How ’bout me?”
“You’re pretty banged up, but you’re not in danger.”
“Your typhoid fever is almost gone,” Ritz said.
Chloe frowned. “Dr. Airplane,” she scolded. “Buck, I have to get better fast. What do these people want?”
“It’s a long story. Basically, they want to trade you for either Tsion or Hattie or both.”
“No,” she said, her voice stronger.
“Don’t worry,” Buck said. “But we’d better get going. We’re not going to fool a real doctor for long, despite Joe Thespian here.”
“That’s Dr. Airplane to you,” Ken said.
Buck heard people at the door. He dropped to the floor and crawled under two curtains, squatting in the area already crowded with both bed and gurney.
“Dr. Lalaine,” one of the men said, “this is our physician from Kenosha. We would appreciate it if you would let him examine this patient.”
“I don’t understand,” Ritz said.
“Of course you don’t,” the doctor said, “but I helped treat an unidentified patient yesterday who matched this description. That’s why I was invited.”
Buck shut his eyes. The voice sounded familiar. If it was the last doctor he had talked to in Kenosha, the one who’d taken pictures of Chloe, all hope was gone. Even if Buck surprised them and came out swinging, there was no way he could get Chloe out of that place.
Ritz said, “I’ve already told these people who this patient is.”
“And we’ve already proven your story false, Doctor,” the woman said. “We asked for Mother Doe in the morgue. It didn’t take long to determine that that was the real Ms. Ashton.”
Buck heard an envelope being opened, something being pulled out. “Look at these pictures,” the woman said. “She may not be a dead ringer, but she’s close. I think that’s her.”
“There’s one way to be sure,” the doctor said. “My patient had three small scars on her left knee from arthroscopic surgery when she was a teenager, and also an appendectomy scar.”
Buck was reeling. Neither was true of Chloe. What was going on?
Buck heard the rustle of blanket, sheet, and gown. “You know, this doesn’t really surprise me,” the doctor said. “I thought the face was a little too round and the bruising more extensive on this girl.”
“Well,” the woman said, “even if this isn’t who we’re looking for, it isn’t Annie Ashton, and she certainly doesn’t have typhoid fever.”
“Nobody in this hospital has typhoid fever,” Ken said. “I say that to keep people’s noses out of my patients’ business.”
“I want this man brought up on charges,” the woman said. “Why wouldn’t he know the name of his own patient?”
“There are too many patients right now,” Ken said. “Anyway, I was told this was Annie Ashton. That’s what it says on the door.”
“I’ll talk to the chief of staff here about Dr. Lalaine,” the doctor said. “I suggest the rest of you check admissions again for Mother Doe.”
“Doctor?” Chloe said in a tiny voice. “You have something on your forehead.”
“I do?” he said.
“I don’t see anything,” the woman said. “This girl is doped up.”
“No, I’m not,” Chloe said. “You do have something there, Doctor.”
“Well,” he said, pleasantly but dismissively, “you’re probably going to have something on your forehead too, once you recover.”
“Let’s get going,” one of the men said.
“I’ll find you after I’ve talked to the chief of staff,” the doctor said.
The others left. As soon as the door shut, the doctor said, “I know who she is. Who are you?”
“I’m Dr. —”
“We both know you’re no doctor.”
“Yes he is,” Chloe slurred. “He’s Dr. Airplane.”
Buck emerged from behind the curtain. “Dr. Charles, meet my pilot, Ken Ritz. Have you ever been an answer to prayer before?”
“It wasn’t easy getting assigned to this,” Floyd Charles said. “But I thought I might come in handy.”
“I don’t know how I can ever thank you,” Buck said.
“Keep in touch,” the doctor said. “I may need you someday. I suggest we transfer your wife out of here. They’ll come look more closely when they don’t find Mother Doe.”
“Can you arrange transportation to the airport and everything we’ll need to take care of her?” Buck asked.
“Sure. As soon as I get Dr. Airplane’s medical license suspended.”
Ken whipped off his smock. “I’ve had enough of doctorin’ anyway,” he said. “I’m going back to sky jockeying.”
“Will I be able to take care of her at home?” Buck asked.
“She’ll be in a lot of pain for a long time and may never feel like she used to, but there’s nothing life-threatening here. The baby’s fine too, as far as we know.”
“I didn’t know until today,” Chloe said. “I suspected, but I didn’t know.”
“You almost gave me away with that forehead remark,” Dr. Charles said.
“Yeah,” Ken said. “What was that all about?”
“I’ll tell you both on the plane,” Buck said.
Early Thursday morning in New Babylon, Nicolae Carpathia and Leon Fortunato met with Rayford. “We have communicated your itinerary to the dignitaries,” Carpathia said. “They have arranged for appropriate accommodations for the Supreme Commander, but you and your first officer should make your own arrangements.”
Rayford nodded. This meeting, as with so many, was unnecessary.
“Now on a person
al note,” Carpathia added, “while I understand your position, it has been decided not to dredge the wreckage of the Pan-Con flight from the Tigris. I am sorry, but it has been confirmed your wife was on board. We should consider that her final resting place, along with the other passengers.”
Rayford believed in his gut Carpathia was lying. Amanda was alive, and she was certainly no traitor to the cause of Christ. He and Mac had scuba gear coming, and while he had no idea where Amanda was, he would start by proving she was not on board that submerged 747.
Two hours before flight time Friday, Mac told Rayford he had replaced the fixed-wing aircraft in the cargo hold. “We’re already takin’ the chopper,” he said. “That little two-engine job is redundant. I replaced it with the Challenger 3.”
“Where’d you find that?” The Challenger was about the size of a Learjet but nearly twice as fast. It had been developed during the last six months.
“I thought we lost everything but the chopper, the fixed-wing, and the Condor. But beyond the rise in the middle of the airstrip, I found the Challenger. I had to install a new antenna and a new tail rudder system, but she’s good as new.”
“I wish I knew how to fly it,” Rayford said. “Maybe I could see my family while Fortunato’s laying over in Texas.”
“They found your daughter?”
“Just got the word. She’s banged up, but she’s fine. And I’m going to be a grandpa.”
“That’s great, Ray!” Mac said, patting Rayford on the shoulder. “I’ll teach you the Challenger. You’ll know how to drive it in no time.”
“I’ve got to finish packing and get an e-mail to Buck,” Rayford said.
“You’re not sending or receiving through the system here, are you?”
“No. I got a coded e-mail from Buck informing me when my private phone would be ringing. I made sure I was outside at that time.”
“We’ve got to talk to Hassid about how secure the Internet is in here. You and he and I have all been on the Net, keeping track of your friend Tsion. I’m worried that the brass can tell who’s been on. Carpathia’s got to be furious about Tsion. We could all be in trouble.”
“David told me that if we stay with the bulletin boards, we’re not traceable.”
“He’d like to be going with us, you know,” Mac said.